


Birds and Bees

by Car



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bad Puns, Because teenage boy reasons, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Good Parent Wentworth Tozier, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Implied/Referenced Masturbation, M/M, Puberty, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier's Internalized Homophobia, The only person more horrified by the whole situation than Richie is Wentworth, Went gives Richie THE TALK, an overabundance of star wars puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Car/pseuds/Car
Summary: A minute later, a slightly disheveled Richie swung open the door, grinning a little manically and gestured grandly for Went to enter. Went huffed a laugh and shut the door behind himself gently, so not to spook him. And then, because he was a bit of a bastard and couldn't help himself said, "Sorry to interrupt."Predictably, Richie's face flushed hotly. "Uh," he mumbled, his eyes wide."Relax, kiddo," Went chuckled, ruffling his hair. "It's about to get much,muchworse. I'm here to give...The Talk."
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 27
Kudos: 214





	Birds and Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing that I had sitting in my WIP folder for a while and decided to finally finish. I love good parents Went and Maggie so much.
> 
> Mature is also probably a little strong of a rating for what this is, but with all the puberty talk and boyish urges involved, I figured better safe than sorry.
> 
> Also, I am so sorry for all the Star Wars Puns...
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

**Birds and Bees**   
  


Wentworth Tozier wasn't a stranger to the weird and unusual.   
  


He was half to blame for the existence of Richie Tozier in the world after all; weird and unusual were the default as far as most of his life experiences involving that boy went. Which was why, in retrospect, he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when his wife posed that fateful question one sunny, summer morning in 1989.  
  


"You've given Richie The Talk, right, Went?" She asked, frankly _way_ more casually than he thought appropriate to be said over their morning pancakes.   
  


"Damn, Mags. Where did that come from?" he answered, once he was done choking on air.  
  


"Language," she scolded, placing the plate of pancakes in front of him. "And it's important. He's thirteen. There are... _girls_... in his life now."  
  


Went blinked up at his wife, shaking his head and picking up his fork and knife to cut his short-stack into little, easy to eat pieces. Also to avoid eye-contact, because this was a really fucking weird conversation to be having before eight in the goddamn morning. " _Girl,_ Mags, singular. He only ever spends time with the one."  
  


" _Girl_ then. Still." She placed a plate adorned with a singular dry slice of toast down on the table in front of her usual chair, then spun around to place the unused batter back into the fridge, saving it for Richie, who they knew still wouldn't be up for a few hours still. "Beverly Marsh is a very pretty young woman, and Richie is a teenager now. He's—"  
  


Went snorted, interrupting, his eyes leveling with his wife's unimpressed stare. "I'm sorry," he began, obviously not sorry at all. "But you've... You _have_ met our son, correct?"  
  


"Went—"  
  


"No, no, it's just. It's important to me that you have met our son. Like, in person. Experienced his..." He made a funky kind of hand gesture. " _Richieness_." He smiled cheekily as the ghost of a smile itched its way onto Maggie's lips. "I don't think we have to worry about him wooing his way into anyone's panties anytime soon, is all I'm saying."  
  


She shook her head. "Better safe than sorry," she said with a sigh. " _When_ that day comes about, I want him to... be ready." She took a sip of coffee, meeting Went’s eyes across the table. "Thinking things through has never exactly been a strong suit of his."   
  


"Well, rest assured, my fair lady," he drawled, slipping into a posh English accent. "The young squire has been more than adequately prepared."  
  


Which, okay, wasn't a _complete_ lie. Went and Richie had had A Talk. Maybe not _The Talk_ , but A Talk was better than No Talk, right?  
  


It had been back in March, a week or so after Richie's thirteenth birthday, actually. Went had stumbled into the laundry room to grab a clean shirt before work, and had bumped into his son, standing over the washing machine like a deer trapped in headlights, a pair of tighty-whities hanging guiltily from his hand.   
  


They both gaped at the other, equally surprised to see anyone else in the early morning stillness, and in his barely-awake, pre-coffee fog, it had taken Went far longer than it should have to connect the dots.  
  


"Oh," he mumbled intelligently. "You're, uh, washing your own underwear."  
  


Richie, looking like he wanted nothing more than for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole, nodded curtly, a vibrant blush washing over his cheeks. "Yep."  
  


"You... wash your own underwear, now."  
  


"Uh-huh."  
  


Went nodded. Richie still wouldn't make eye contact. He didn't blame him. "Well. Uh." He coughed. "Let me know if you have any questions, okay son? About...about washing underwear."  
  


And then he grabbed the first shirt he saw and briskly exited the room.   
  


They never spoke of it again.  
  


Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly even _A_ Talk. But it was a _start_.   
  


He made a face. "I'll just check in with him again after work."  
  


Maggie smiled. "Thank you."  
  


O  
  


Richie was a sweet kid.   
  


A little strange at times, with his voices and jokes and peculiar interests, but he was actually very loyal and sensitive and kind, and was extremely bright when he'd shut his mouth long enough to keep himself out of trouble. But he was a good kid, and Wentworth had always thought they had a good, healthy relationship. They _got_ each other.  
  


But nothing, not even the best father and son relationship in the world, could fully prepare him for this fucking conversation.   
  


"Rich?" He called, knocking twice on the door to his bedroom. "Can I come in?"  
  


There was a thump, a curse, and another, louder thump on the other side of the door before Richie's voice called back, a little frantic, "Just a sec!"  
  


Went snorted. Ah, adolescence. "No problem, no rush. Whenever you're ready."  
  


A minute later, a slightly disheveled Richie swung open the door, grinning a little manically and gestured grandly for Went to enter. "What's shakin' Daddy-o?" he asked, sitting back on his bed, all faux-casual and obvious.  
  


Went huffed a laugh and shut the door behind himself gently, so not to spook him. "Not much," he said in amusement. And then, because he was a bit of a bastard and couldn't help himself, "Sorry to _interrupt._ "  
  


Predictably, Richie's face flushed hotly. "Uh," he mumbled, his eyes wide.   
  


"Relax, kiddo," Went chuckled, ruffling his hair. "It's about to get much, _much_ worse. I'm here to give... _The Talk_."  
  


"Fuck," Richie groaned, burying his face in his hands. "It's time? Right now? This is it?"  
  


Went nodded gravely, biting back a grin. "It is indeed, young Padawan. And watch your language." He sat down next to Richie on the edge of the bed, knowing from experience that this was a conversation best had sans eye-contact. "I know you've already begun lightsaber training, so I'll just jump ahead to the real Jedi stuff for now."  
  


"Jesus christ," Richie moaned. "Can we not ruin _Star Wars_ with this shit, please? Maybe pick a different metaphor? Or better yet, not talk about it at all?"  
  


Went snorted. "That's fair, no more _Star Wars_ , but I'm afraid we have no choice. Your mother is _insisting,_ and she's the boss."  
  


" _Mom_ put you up to this?" he cried, even more horrified at the news. Went hummed in confirmation.  
  


"She's noticed you've been spending a lot of time with Beverly Marsh this summer, and wants to make sure she doesn't become a grandma before she's perfected her cable-stitch."  
  


Richie seemed to relax a little at that, but still hung his head back, his eyes closed in agony. "Bev? _Bev_ brought this on? Seriously? There is _nothing_ going on between me and Bev."  
  


"Maybe so." Went shrugged. "But there will be others. You take after me, kiddo. Girls will be knocking down the doors to get to you before you know it."  
  


Richie rolled his eyes as Went grinned at his own joke, but after a moment, began to fiddle with his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose in a twitchy, nervous tick. Went raised his eyebrow.   
  


"What is it, Rich?" he asked carefully.  
  


Richie shook his head, biting his lip. "I—" he began, before snapping his mouth shut again and wincing, "Nothing, Dad. It's nothing."  
  


Went narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure?"  
  


"Mm-hm." He nodded vehemently.   
  


"Because if there's anything you want to talk about with me, you know you can."  
  


Richie opened his mouth, probably to argue his point once again, but paused, his voice getting caught in his throat. "I—" he began again, before sighing heavily, his gaze trained aggressively on the floor. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, sounding almost pained. "Anything?"   
  


"Anything."  
  


"Okay," Richie sighed, shakily, glancing at Went quickly out of the corner of his eye before immediately looking away. "What if..." he began. "What if there never _are_ any girls?" he finally spat out, strained.   
  


Went blinked once in surprise. That was not what he was expecting. "What do you mean?"  
  


"I mean... Like, what if I _never_ get a girlfriend?" He looked up at Went at that, his blue eyes magnified by his glasses like he was begging, _pleading_ him to understand.  
  


"Rich..." Went began cautiously, frowning. "I'm not one-hundred percent sure what you're asking here, so if I'm way off base, stop me, okay? But, you're a _great kid_. I know puberty is the worst, and you probably feel awkward and gangly and gross pretty much constantly. And don't get me wrong, that is _absolutely_ the case—"  
  


" _Dad_ ," Richie groaned, but there was a hint of a smile in it.  
  


"—but you are a _catch_." He smiled. "Girls your age may not realize it right now, but anyone would be _lucky_ to have you." Richie went quietly pensive at that, deep in thought, so Went nudged him in the shoulder playfully, and managed to get a tired smirk out of him, if nothing else. "Okay?"  
  


"Yeah, Dad. Okay," he said quietly, nodding. "Thanks."  
  


"No prob, sport." He ruffled his hair again, much to Richie's annoyance, and beamed. "Well!" he chirped, clapping his hands. "Now that the mushy shit is done, let's get into the good stuff, shall we? How about we start with your old pal with whom I know you are already intimately familiar: _nocturnal emissions._ "  
  


" _Uuugh_ ," Richie moaned, but also laughed, and it wasn't easy, but they got through The Talk together, making it out of the other side, a little beat up, but both in one piece.   
  


**Twenty-Seven Years Later...  
  
**

"Ah, so _this_ is what you were talking about when you asked about never having a girlfriend when you were thirteen," Wentworth mused in amusement, watching fondly as Eddie and Maggie fluttered around each other in the kitchen, laughing and smiling joyfully as they put together dinner. Next to him, Richie chuckled.   
  


"Yeah, it was. Thanks for telling me how gross and awkward I was, though. That was awesome for my delicate, prepubescent self esteem."  
  


Went laughed, reaching _up_ to ruffle Richie's hair, because somewhere along the way, he had grown even taller than him. "Don't forget gangly," he reminded him.  
  


Richie snorted, batting his hands away gently. "Yeah, yeah. You weren't wrong."   
  


"I wasn't," Went said proudly. "About _any_ of it." And then, because he was a bit of a bastard and couldn't help himself, "I'm proud of you, kiddo."  
  


"Aw, Dad," Richie sighed, blushing.  
  


"I should have figured it out sooner, honestly," Went laughed, gesturing to Eddie. "You always disappeared into your room for, like, an hour after that little guy went home."  
  


"Dad."  
  


"Little bit of Han _Solo_ action." He gasped. " _Hand Solo_ action!"  
  


" _Dad!_ "  
  


"Went, leave Richie alone and come help us set the table," Maggie called, holding up a stack of plates.   
  


Went gave her a little wave and made his way over to the counter to grab the plates, eyeing Richie over his shoulder and biting back a stupid grin. "Though I'd have spent more time talking about lightsabers if I'd known you be dual-wielding."  
  


"Holy fuck, _Dad!_ "  
  


" _Richie,_ language," Maggie tsked.  
  


"Dude, tell Dad to stop trying to ruin _Star Wars_ , then!"  
  


Eddie scrunched his nose up in confusion, his eyes jumping around to each of the Toziers in hopes of an explanation. "Do I want to know?" he asked Richie, who rolled his eyes and shook his head as Went set the table setting, whistling innocently.  
  


"No," he sighed. "And don't believe anything Went ever tells you." Be paused, blinking. "Especially about _Star Wars_."  
  


Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Anything?" Richie grinned, kissing him on the forehead.  
  


"Anything."  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
